Heavy In Your Arms
by ifonlyifonlythewoodpeckersighs
Summary: "Ah, breathing. Breathing's boring." Sherlock smiled at his love, and kissed him again. Slash, smut, and fluff. Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, but BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle do.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Italics is John's thoughts and bold is Sherlock's thoughts. I wanted to put their thoughts, but I didn't want to make it first person, so. Anyway, enjoy! And please tell me what you think! I will post a second chapter as soon as I can, depending on reviews.

_God, he is gorgeous. _John was turned around on the sofa, and he watched Sherlock as he played his violin, composing a song as sad as John felt. He had never felt this strongly about anything or anyone before in his life. He wanted to say something, to do something. But how could he? He was in love with a genius, who didn't have any feelings for anyone. At least not any related with caring or friendship, or love. John was a doctor and a brave ex-soldier, who would die for his country. But until this point in his life, there was no person that he cared about enough to die for. But had that changed? John spent his hours working in the hospital thinking about Sherlock. He dreamed of his ivory skin and ebony hair, and his beautiful blue-grey eyes. The sound of his rich, deep voice was like the sweetest symphony of music. He loved Sherlock to his core, but it was a love that he thought could never work. John was living in a hell that he couldn't get out of. He couldn't live with saying nothing, but if he said anything, it could ruin his strange relationship with Sherlock forever. John sighed, and went back to his newspaper.

Sherlock felt John's eyes on him, and he smiled, a small blush creeping into his cheeks. As soon as he realized, he stopped smiling. **Dear God, what is happening to me?** Never, not once, had Sherlock doubted himself, or had any reason to. He never had any problems controlling his feelings. Unfortunate side effects of being human, in Sherlock's mind. But he didn't know what to think now. Sherlock was a man with no feelings for anyone or anything, but just knowing that John was looking at him made him blush. **Why is it that this man could change everything? What made him different than every other human being in the world? **His whole life, Sherlock had lived for proving that he was clever, doing anything just to not be bored. But he had started to live for something else. Those moments when John would look at him when his back was turned. When John would fall asleep on the sofa, and he could watch him sleep, and listen to his soft snores. He craved moments like these. Sherlock was horribly confused, and he hated his situation. Even if there was the slight possibility that John returned his... feelings... he didn't know how he was going to go about telling John what he was going through. Sherlock suddenly realized that he had been holding his breath. He heard John turn back around, and he quietly began to breathe again. **What on Earth am I going to do...**

It was late when John came home from work. Sherlock heard the door close and John's soft footsteps coming up the stairs. He smirked to himself.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"What are you doing?" Sherlock was laying face flat on the floor, not moving.

"Well, John, it seems as if your observation skills have lowered. I am lying on the floor."

"Yes, alright, your lying on the floor. But why?"

Sherlock stood up again and went to find his violin. "It was an experiment. I thought it might help me think better."

"Oh. Well, did it work?" That was new. Usually Sherlock played his violin, or used nicotine patches, when he needed to think.

"Not at all. I am wrestling with a problem, and I have found that nothing is helping me to think." He said this while tuning his violin, and then began to play.

_And back to the violin._ "Ah. Well, this sounds like an interesting problem. What is it, exactly?"

Sherlock smiled. **Just the right question.** "John, come with me, please. There is something I need to show you." He set the string instrument down, grabbed John by the wrist, and led him outside.

"Sherlock, what is it? What are you doing?" Sherlock was walking incredibly slowly. He ignored John and opened the front door, and they stepped outside.

"Alright, what is it? What did you need to show me?" John tried to stay calm, but his voice wavered. Sherlock was still holding his wrist.

"Not here, John. Not yet. Inside!" Sherlock said cheerily. He let go of John and walked back up the stairs. John followed.

"Sherlock, what was that about?" John was suspicious now. He thought the consulting detective was up to one of his experiments.

"Oh, nothing. John, haven't you noticed?" Sherlock turned his back to John and smirked.

"Haven't I noticed what?"

Sherlock whirled around and stepped over to John, their bodies almost touching, their faces inches apart. John found it hard to breathe.

"You asked me a question and I never answered. You asked about the problem I was wrestling with. Do you still want to know?"

Sherlock's quiet, baritone voice had it's effects on the doctor, and he couldn't find his voice for a while. When he did, he could only manage a small "Yes."

"John, when I led you outside, I did it slowly, and I was checking your pulse. It rapidly increased the longer I held your wrist, although you were not running. Just now, when I came up to you, your pupils dilated, and you struggled to make a response to my question. Right now, this very second, your breathing is quicker, and you are blushing ever more with each sentence I speak."

John didn't know what to do. Had Sherlock done it? Had he figured out his secret? _Of course, he_ _has._ He's_ Sherlock._ "What is the problem, Sherlock? What do you want?" He barely whispered it.

Sherlock smiled. "You." The consulting detective bent his head down and kissed John. The doctor opened his mouth for Sherlock, and let him take control. They both closed their eyes. Their tongues danced, and their bodies craved each other. For someone who nothing about such things, John thought, Sherlock tasted otherworldly. He tasted like stars that shined above the river banks of distant lands in different times, where a graceful people walked among the starlight in other worlds. Sherlock had similar thoughts as he kissed the doctor. To him John tasted like the finest fruits in the garden of Eden. He tasted like the sweetest wine brewed by a people long forgotten in this time. And he certainly tasted better than any cigarette. When he wanted to get high, all he had to do now was kiss John. His love was a waterfall around Sherlock, and he willingly drowned. The heat of Sherlock's love rolled off of his body like boiling lava, and created a hissing steam when it hit John's waterfall. The steam was their combined love, rising around them without end. They each melted into the others embrace. Sherlock placed one hand on the small of John's back, while the other gripped the back of his head. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, and pulled him closer. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, until John broke the kiss.

"Sherlock!" he gasped, "I need to breathe."

"Ah, breathing. Breathing's boring." Sherlock smiled at his love, and kissed him again.

AN: So! Please tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: So, this is it! My first one! And John always struck me as a Beatles fan. Anyway, please tell me what you think! Enjoy!

"Sherlock..." John moaned, and the consulting detective smiled against his lips. John closed his eyes, and melted against Sherlock's tall, lean body. Silky lips moved with his, and all other thought flew from his mind. All he cared about right now was being with this amazing man.

Sherlock tangled his fingers in John's short, sandy hair, and moved his lips against John's gentle mouth. He kept their bodies pressed firmly together, and he refused to let go. He never wanted to let go of John again.

Sherlock broke the kiss and nipped at John's neck, and then kissed along his jawline before whispering in his ear, "I love you, John. I can't explain why or how, all I know is that you are extraordinary and beautiful, and I never want to let you go. And I will always love you, while I'm alive and when I'm dead, and wherever we are before, after, and in between. I would follow you to the end of the Earth. You are my life and my life is yours, to keep for all eternity." He wrapped his arms around John in a hug, and John nuzzled his face in Sherlock's shoulder. He sighed contendedly, and spoke.

"Sherlock, my darling, my love, I love you more than life itself. I would love you in a million worlds , in a million lifetimes, no matter who or what we are. You are amazing and gorgeous and wonderful, and I wouldn't be able to live without you. You stole my heart and soul, and both will belong to you before and after the end of time." John inhaled Sherlock's glorious, intoxicating scent. A mixture of tea, coffee, and nicotine. His brain was still fuzzy from the kiss, and smelling Sherlock didn't help. But he felt good, better than he had felt in his entire life.

Sherlock closed his eyes after hearing John's words, and burried his face in John's neck. It was as if a great weight had just been lifted off of his shoulders, one that he had been carrying for far too long. He felt warm tears run down his face, but he felt so good. Sherlock knew it was ok to cry in front of John, to show his feelings. So he kept his eyes closed, and he let the tears come. Everything he had been holding in his entire life, all of his feelings, finally left him. Sherlock let them go, and he didn't regret it.

John pulled back and smiled at his love. Both men were tired. They sat down on the sofa, holding hands, and John began to sing.

"Once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was a way to get back home. Sleep pretty darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby. Golden slumbers fill your eyes, smiles await you when you rise. Sleep pretty darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby..." He sang quietly and gently, and soon Sherlock fell asleep. John kissed him on the cheek, and nodded off to sleep himself.

When John woke up, it was early morning. He looked at Sherlock, who was still sleeping, and smiled. He didn't want to wake him up, so he watched him sleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest, his quiet breathing. A small curl of hair had fallen into his eye, so John genty brushed it away. Sherlock blinked, and smiled down at John. He leaned over and kissed him tenderly. When he released John's mouth he said "I didn't you could sing."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "It was nothing."

Sherlock smiled, and stood up. "What shall we do today, John?"

"I don't know about you, but I have to get to work."

"You can't leave me!" The consulting detective was appalled. "Can't you take the day off or something?"

"Alright, calm down, Sherlock. I'll take the day off." John laughed at the grin Sherlock had on his face.

"I am bored, John." Sherlock walked across the room to John, and towered over him.

"Well, what would you like to do, Sherlock?" His voice wavered, and his heart raced.

"I think that today, you would be an excellent subject for an experiment." He grinned, and kissed John fully on the mouth.

"Sherlock..." he breathed the name, and closed his eyes. His tongue danced with Sherlock's, and his fingers laced around the back of his neck...


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Cutesy fluff chapter, and a joke about the hobbit and martin freeman. Spoilers for the end of the hobbit, if you don't want to read that's fine. Anyway, enjoy!

John wanted to scream, to tell him to stop, but the words were stuck in his throat. Sherlock stood on top of a building, looking down at John. John stood in the street, looking up at Sherlock. Why? Why would he do this? Just then, Sherlock jumped off the building. John's heart snapped in half. He checked Sherlock's pulse. Nothing. He gazed upon the broken face of his lover, the normally twinkling blue-grey eyes were vacant. John tried to stand but couldn't. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything. I thought he was happy. I thought he loved me...

John sat upright in bed, his heart ramming against his ribcage. He shoved his fist in his mouth to stifle the scream building up inside of him. Sobs racked his body, and it was a long time before he could calm down. He glanced over at Sherlock. His eyes were closed, his chest was steadily rising and falling. Hot tears stained John's face, and he couldn't get the image of Sherlock's broken body out of his mind. He told himself it was just a dream, but it didn't help. John never had dreams that vivid, not even about the war. It was like he was actually there. He had felt the wind on his face, and it still stang from the cold. He had felt the tears stream down his cheeks when he looked at Sherlock's body. He had felt the pain in his heart. John decided to shake it off, and he lay back down against his lover's side.

When Sherlock woke up, John was snuggling against him. It was evening. Sherlock smiled, and kissed his boyfriend. John blinked, and kissed the detective with vigor. Sherlock broke the kiss, laughing, but then he stopped.

"John, what's wrong?" Tear streams stained his face, and his navy blue eyes were red. He had a solemn look, as if something bad had happened. John smiled.

"Nothing. It's just a dream I had, that's all."

Sherlock knew better than to ask him about it. When John wanted to talk about his dream, he would. In his own time. Sherlock stood up and set about finding some clothes. John got up and headed for the shower. Niether of them said anything.

When John got out of the shower, Sherlock was playing his violin, Golden Slumbers by The Beatles. John smiled, and came up behind Sherlock and kissed him on the neck.

"When did you learn to play that, 'lock?"

"Just now, actually. I was thinking about when you sang it, last night. I thought it might be nice to learn a new song, so I chose that one." He smiled and kissed John on the forehead.

"It's lovely. And I found out that the roads were closed today, because of the ice. So I didn't have to go to work anyway."

"Fantastic." Not much enthusiasm.

"And I don't have to go tommorrow, either." John grinned, and Sherlock whirled around and hugged him. Both men laughed.

"Brilliant!" He meant it this time. John pecked him on the cheek.

"Want some tea?"

"I would love some, thank you, darling."

John walked to the fridge to get a lemon for their tea, but when he opened it he stopped short.

"What is it, love?"

"Looks like... thumbs? Sherlock, why do you have a bag of thumbs in the fridge?"

Sherlock merely shrugged. "It's an experiment."

John sighed. "Alright, that happened." He made their tea with lemon, the way Sherlock liked it.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock kissed John on the cheek as he handed him his cup.

The doctor chuckled. "I love you, too."

They enjoyed the rest of their evening. John sang songs, mostly The Beatles, and Sherlock played them on his violin. And for a while, it seemed, John forgot all about the dream he had that morning.

John didn't remember at what time, but last night Sherlock must have carried him to bed. He woke up with more than half of his body hanging off the edge of it. How the hell did this happen? He had just set about fixing himself when Sherlock's cell phone rang.

"Oh!" John fell off the bed and hit his head on the nightstand. He groaned and sat up.

"...oh, please! Send me pictures." Sherlock grumbled into the phone, scowling.

"Was that Lestrade?"

"Yes, with another case that he has failed to solve."

"Oh, well, aren't we going to go to the crimescene?"

"Ugh, no. This case is barely a two." John got up and looked over the detective's soldier at the pictures on his phone. Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes while sending a text telling Lestrade to smell her breath.

"Smell her breath. Why?" Sherlock tossed his phone at John.

"Look at the pictures. Vomit in her mouth. No doubt she was forced to drink and cause of death was asphyxiation." He checked his phone, and then sent out another message.

"Oh. Well, alright, did you find the murderer?"

"Yes. The blood on her right knuckles, it's not her own. She must have punched her killer in an attempt to escape. There, solved it without leaving the flat. They just need to test that blood and then they'll have the murderer. Incompetents. Do they need me to go and do that for them as well?"

"Well, Lestrade just asked you how you know the blood on her knuckles isn't her own."

"Do they know nothing? Her skin isn't broken, first of all, and second, why on Earth would it be hers? What, did she just go around punching walls because she enjoys it? They act as if I need to go over there and chew their food for them. Morons."

"Alright, 'lock, just calm down. I'm sure a case will turn up."

"My inbox is empty!"

"Ok, well, we can do something fun together today." John smiled.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, why don't we make something? Like cupcakes?"

"Cupcakes?" Sherlock stared at his boyfriend uncomprehendingly. "Why cupcakes?"

"I don't know. It was just a suggestion."

"A pretty bad suggestion. Sex sounds more fun to me."

"No. We are going to have a sex-free fun day."

"Why? What's funner than sex?"

"Nothing." The doctor laughed. "But really, I think that something different would be better for you."

"Like what?" John grinned.

"Well, we've played five games of Scrabble, seven games of Battleship, sixteen games of chess, watched all the Lord of The Rings movies and the first installment of The Hobbit. Honestly John, I don't understand your fascination with those furry little creatures. But that Bilbo character, I have to say, he is quite attractive."

"Oh, come on, 'lock, don't act like you didn't like those movies."

"Alright, I admit, they were somewhat fascinating. I'm sure the books are better, though."

"They're just as good. But they really cut out a lot from the books when they made the movies. I was actually looking forward to Tom Bombadil."

"You've read the books, too? God, John, why don't you just start a fan club and get it over with? Any other games you want to play before we go see the second Hobbit?"

"Yes, actually." John smiled, and pulled out Twister.

"What did the spinner land on, John?"

"Um... Right hand on blue. That's my arse, Sherlock, not a blue circle."

"Hey, this was your idea!" Sherlock reluctantly removed his hand and placed in the nearest blue circle. John stretched his foot to spin the wheel.

"Left foot on red."

"Then?"

"Left hand on yellow. Sherlock, how the hell did we manage this?" John had his back facing down, and Sherlock was stomach down on top of him. The detective tried to shrug his shoulders, but his hands slipped in the process, and he collapsed on top of John. Both of them were laughing, and Sherlock bent his head down to kiss him. John opened his eyes and checked his watch.

"Oh, the movie starts in thirty minutes! We should probably leave now, since we're walking." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Do we really have to go see it?"

"Yes! Smaug is in this one, and I think you'll like him."

"Smaug? Who's Smaug?"

"The dragon!"

"Oh, really? Well, this is getting interesting."

"Shut up with the sarcasm." Sherlock made a face at his boyfriend when he turned around, and then they left.

When Sherlock and John left the theater, in was nine o'clock at night.

"So, let me guess, Smaug flies off to Lake-town, Bard kills him, a huge battle happens, Thorin dies, and the hobbit returns home."

John was stunned. "Yes. How could you possibly know that?"

Sherlock grinned. "I Googled it." John laughed, and held Sherlock's hand. "Well, thank you for today, John. I had fun."

"Really?"

"Yes, I mean it. You were right. A change was good for me."

"Of course I was right." John laughed, and Sherlock watched him as he unlocked the door to their flat. Snowflakes covered his hair, and he looked beautiful in the evening light. John turned around and saw Sherlock staring at him.

"What?" The detective chuckled quietly and kissed his boyfriend.

"I love you, John." The doctor smiled.

"I love you, too, 'lock."

AN: Please review! I'm actually debating not posting another chapter until I get some feedback, good or bad I don't care. It would just really help to understand my readers points of view.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thank you to all who reviewed! It really means a lot to me. But I would really like some more feedback. Please? Anyway, enjoy!

John woke up in the morning to the smell of food cooking. He yawned, ad walked to the kitchen.

"Morning, Sherlock. What are you doing?"

"Good morning, love." He kissed John on the cheek. "I am making pancakes."

"Pancakes? I didn't know you could cook. What brought this on?"

Sherlock shrugged. The doctor poked his head around his shoulder to look at the pancakes, and smiled. They were made perfectly. Sherlock turned around with two plates of pancakes and headed for the table.

"John, grab the syrup, please." When they sat down, the detective eagerly stared at John as he waited for him to try his cooking. The doctor tried them, and smiled at his boyfriend. He honestly didn't know what he was expecting, but they were actually very good.

"They're delicious, Sherlock."

"Do you really think so?"

"Of course! Now you should eat some."

Sherlock grinned, and they both enjoyed their breakfast.

"Really, Sherlock, you should cook more often."

"I should, shouldn't I?"

"Absolutely. I can't remember the last time I ate pancakes."

Sherlock laughed, and then John got up to leave for work. When the consulting detectice protested, as he always did, John kissed him on the cheek.

"Sherlock, as much as I would love to, I just can't stay home everyday. Just text me if you need anything. I'll see you later." John walked out the door, and Sherlock was left alone.

John? -SH

What is it, Sherlock? -JW

When are you coming home? -SH

'lock, I just got here! -JW

I'm sorry, love. But I can't leave work. -JW

Sherlock? -JW

Sherlock! -JW

SHERLOCK! -JW

What. -SH

Hey, don't get mad at me. You know I need to work. -JW

Fine. -SH

Bored. -SH

Sherlock, it's only been an hour! -JW

Yes, John, I know how to tell time, and it doesn't change the fact that I am bored. -SH

Sherlock, darling, please! Don't you have an experiment to do? -JW

I did it already. -SH

Ok, well, why don't you play your violin? -JW

That's alright, John. I found your gun. -SH

Sherlock, no! -JW

What are you doing with my gun? -JW

Sherlock, answer me! -JW

I shot at the wall again, and Mrs. Hudson yelled at me. She ignored me when I told her the wall had it coming. -SH

Sherlock, thank God everything's fine! -JW

Did you waste all my bullets? -JW

Alright, fine. But I'm not paying for the damage done to that wall. -JW

John, I need a case! -SH

I'll say! We don't want you harpooning a dead pig again. I don't think even the tube would take you this time. -JW

Hm. -SH

What? -JW

John, I am bored! -SH

No, really? I couldn't tell! -JW

John, this isn't funny. -SH

Who said I'm laughing? -JW

Oh, please, that text was obviously sarcastic. -SH

Alright, you got me. But Sherlock please don't blow anything up. -JW

No promises. -SH

'lock, my shift ends in an hour. Can you survive that long without me? -JW

I think I can manage. -SH

Sherlock heard the door close. "John, you're home!" He ran downstairs to meet John. He picked him up and swirled him around in the air.

"Sherlock! Wow, if going to work means coming home to this-"

"No, John! Not having a case to solve is enough to deal with, but if you're gone everyday, I don't know what I'll do!"

"Sherlock, Sherlock! I was only joking."

"John, close your eyes. I have a surprise for you!" The doctor closed his eyes and let Sherlock lead him upstairs. "Alright, open them." He opened his eyes to see a lovely dinner for two set up on the table, with a candle in the middle.

"Sherlock, did you do this for me?"

"For us, John." Sherlock kissed him on the cheek.

"'lock, this is lovely. Did you really cook this chicken?"

"I made everything myself." Sherlock pulled a chair out for John.

"You're such a gentleman." He smiled.

"I always thought so."

"This is really nice."

"Do you think so?"

"Really, very thoughtful. It's sweet."

They enjoyed their dinner. Well, Sherlock did. John sat contemplating the dream he had a few months ago. He tried not to show it, but it was really bothering him.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Do you love me?"

Sherlock stopped short, and frowned. "Of course, I love you." When John didn't answer, he knew something was wrong. "What is it, John?"

"It's just... it's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes... no."

"What is it, darling?"

"It's just this bloody dream I had, that's all."

"What dream, John?"

"One I had a few months ago."

"About?" John wasn't saying much, but Sherlock was determined to coax it out of him.

"It's nothing, 'lock."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." John stood up and cleared his plate. "I've had a long day, and I'm tired. Good night, 'lock." He left Sherlock alone, swearing under his breath. What the hell is it with this dream?

"John? John?" Sherlock whispered his boyfriend's name in the dark.

"What is it? What time is it?" John slurred his words together, and his eyes were only half open.

"It's two thirty."

John shot straight up in the bed. "In the afternoon?!"

"In the morning."

John sighed, and fell back down. "Jesus. What is it, Sherlock?"

"John?"

"What?"

"Will you sing to me?"

John smiled, and sighed, his original irritation gone. "Sing what, 'lock?"

"The song you sang before. Golden Slumbers."

John opened his arms. "Come here, darling." Sherlock crawled over and rested his head on John's bare chest, and closed his eyes. He didn't know why, but he was sad that night. Maybe John singing will make me feel better...

"Once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was a way to get back home. Sleep pretty darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby..." John stroked his lover's hair, and watched him as he slept. Tears came to his eyes as he remembered his dream again, and he didn't sleep that night.

In the morning, Sherlock opened his eyes, and saw John smiling at him. He closed his eyes again, and snuggled back into his chest.

"Awake already, John? Well, I'm not letting you leave me again."

"It's Saturday, Sherlock. I don't need to work. And I didn't sleep last night."

"Is it because I woke you up? I'm sorry, John."

"No, no, it's not your fault, 'lock. I just couldn't sleep."

"Do you want me to move?"

"No, stay here. Please?"

Sherlock sat up. "No. Come here, love." John crawled into his arms, and slept there the rest of the morning.

Without a case to solve and nothing to do but watch John sleep, Sherlock's mind had time to wander. He twisted a clump of John's hair between his fingers, thinking about how much his life had changed in only a matter of months. Before, it was like he wasn't really living. Before? Before what? Before I met John. Sherlock smiled at his lover, and kissed the top of his head.

John checked Sherlock's pulse. Nothing. He gazed upon the broken face of his lover, the normally twinkling blue-grey eyes were vacant. John tried to stand but couldn't. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything. I thought he was happy. I thought he loved

me...

"SHERLOCK!" John sat upright, screaming.

"John, it's alright, it was just a dream. I'm here." John turned around to see Sherlock, holding his arms out for him.

"Oh, Sherlock..." John layed in his arms and cried into his chest. Sherlock stroked his head, and sang another of the doctor's favorite songs.

"When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be. And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be, let it be. Let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be. And when the brokenhearted people living in the world agree, there will be an answer, let it be. For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see, there will be an answer, let it be..."

John stopped crying, and listened to his lover sing, and he smiled. Sherlock remembered this song. Let It Be. John closed his eyes and waited for Sherlock to finish the song, and then he kissed him on the cheek.

"You remembered."

"Of course, I did, John. It's one of your favorite songs. What do you want to do for the rest of the day?"

"Just stay here. Please, 'lock?"

Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around John. "Sure, love." They both closed their eyes.

AN: As always, please review! Reviews keep me writing!


	5. Chapter 5

AN: So, this chapter can be seen as a tribute to the second season of Sherlock, being mostly dialouge from those episodes with a few changes of my own. As always, please review!

"When I said this before, I meant it. I don't have friends. I've just got one. And he is the love of my life."

"Right." John walked away.

"John? John! You are amazing, you are fantastic!"

"Alright, you don't need to overdo it."

"You've never been the most luminous of people, but as the conductor of light you are unbeatable!"

"Cheers. What?"

"For some people who aren't geniuses they have the amazing ability to stimulate it in others."

"Hang on, you were saying sorry a minute ago, don't spoil it. Go on, what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?"

"Hound. What if it's not a word, but individual letters?"

"You think it's an acronym?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"The fog."

"What?"

"It's the fog! The drug, it's in the fog! Aerosal disposal, that's what it said in those records. Project H.O.U.N.D.. It's the fog! A chemical minefield."

"Why is it always the hat photograph?!"

"Bachelor John Watson..."

"What kind of hat is it anyway?"

"Bachelor. What the hell are they implying? So, we're not married yet. Why do they care?"

"Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?"

"It's a deer stalker. Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson..."

"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you meant to do, throw it?"

"Comfirmed bachelor John Watson!"

"Some sort of death frisbee?"

"Ok, this is too much. We need to be more careful."

"Its got flaps. Ear flaps. It's an ear hat, John! What do you mean, 'more careful'?"

"I mean this isn't a deer stalker now, it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you're not exactly a private detective anymore. You're this far from famous!"

"Oh, it'll pass."

"It better pass. The press will turn, they always turn, and they'll turn on you."

"It really bothers you?"

"What?"

"What people say?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand. Why would it upset you?"

"Sherlock, I love you. Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week, stay out of the news."

"Not guilty. They found him not guilty, Sherlock!"

Sherlock hung up the phone and went to make tea. He was going to have a visitor.

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead. No, sorry-"

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area."

Molly continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "When he was dying he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once, he looked sad-"

"Molly."

"You look sad. When you think he can't see you " Sherlock stopped and gazed at his love, and then looked at Molly. "Are you ok? And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."

"You can see me."

"I don't count." Sherlock looked at Molly, puzzled. "All I'm trying to say is if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me. No, I just mean, I mean, if there's anything you need, it's fine." Molly looked away.

"But what could I need from you?"

"Nothing. I don't know. You could probably say thank you, actually."

"... Thank you."

"I'm just gonna go and get some crisps, do you want anything? It's ok, I know you don't."

"Well, actually, maybe I-"

"I know you don't." Molly briskly walked away, and Sherlock stared after her, as if he were seeing her for the first time. He thought about what an ass he had been to her, that he always was to her, really, and how admirable it was for her to keep talking the way she did. She was right. It hurt when John couldn't see him. Sherlock decided he need to apologize, and thank her somehow.

"People will think-"

"I don't care what people think."

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid or wrong."

"No. That would just make them stupid or wrong."

"Shelock, darling, I don't want the world believing that you're..."

"That I am what?"

"A fraud."

Sherlock sighed. "You're worried they're right."

"What?"

"You're worried they're right about me."

"No."

"That's why you're so upset. You've got to entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."

"No. I'm not."

"Moriarty is playing with your mind, too. Can't you see what's going on?!"

John looked out the window. "No, I know you're for real."

"One hundred percent."

"Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time."

Sherlock smiled.

"Joining me?" Sherlock smirked as John was being put in handcuffs beside him.

"Of course, he's Richard Brook. There is no Moriarty. There never has been."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look him up. Rick Brook, an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty."

"Dr. Watson, I know you're a good man, don't-don't hurt me."

"No, you were Moriarty! He's Moriarty! We met, remember? You were gonna blow me up!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He motioned to Sherlock. "He paid me! I needed the work! I'm an actor, I needed the work, ok?"

"Sherlock, you better explain, because I am not getting this."

"I'll be doing the explaining. In print. It's all here, conclusive proof. You invented James Moriarty. Your nemesis."

"Invented him?!" John was furious.

"Yes, invented all the crimes, actually. It's a capital he made up a master villian."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!"

"Ask him! He's right here, just ask him. Tell him, Richard."

"Oh, for God's sake! This man was on trial!"

"Yes, and you paid him," Kitty motioned to Sherlock. "Paid him to take the wrap. Promised you to rig the jury. Not exactly a west end role, but I'll bet the money was good. For God's sake, he didn't want to sell his story."

"I am sorry, I am, I am sorry!"

"So, this is the story you're going to publish, the big conclusion of it all, Moriarty's an actor?" John closed his eyes and shook his head.

"He knows I am! I have proof! Show him. Kitty, show them something."

"Yeah, show me something."

"I'm on TV, I'm on kid's TV. I'm a story teller. I'm-I'm the story teller! It's on DVD."

John sifted through the papers, not daring to believe. And in the middle of all this Sherlock stood there, and although he appeared to be angry, he was formulating a plan.

"Just tell him. It's all coming out now, it's all over. Just tell them. Just tell them! Tell him! It's all over. No! NO!" Jim Moriarty backed away as Sherlock stepped toward him. "Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me!"

"Stop it. Stop it now!"

"Don't hurt me!"

"Don't let him get away!"

"Leave him alone!"

He got away.

"You were wrong, you know. You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you." Sherlock turned and looked at Molly. "But you were right. I'm not ok."

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Molly, I think I'm going to die."

"What do you need?"

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?"

"What do you need?" She barely whispered it.

Sherlock stepped closer. "You."

"Did you almost start to wonder if was real? Did I nearly get you?" Moriarty slowly walked in circles around Sherlock, smiling.

"Richard Brook."

"Nobody seems to get the joke. But you do."

"Of course."

"That a boy."

"Rich Brook in German is Reichenbach. The case that made my

name."

"Just tryin' to have some fun." He watched Sherlock tap out the beats on his fingers. "Good. You got that, too."

"Beats like digits. Every beat is a one, every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assasins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me, hidden inside my head. A few simple lines of computer code that could break into any system." Moriarty gazed at him plainly.

"Told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy."

"Yes, but now that it's up here," Sherlock motioned to his head, "I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty." Moriarty pouted like a child, his voice rising into a whine.

"No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy, this is too easy! There is no key, dufus!" He sighed. "Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless."

"You're insane."

"You're just getting that now?" Sherlock shook Moriarty's body. "Ok, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."

"John..."

"Your only three friends in the world will die. Unless..."

"Unless I kill myself, and complete your story."

Moriarty nodded, smiling devilishly. "You got to admit that's sexier."

"And I die in disgrace."

"Well, of course, that's the point of this."

"You're ordinary. You're ordinary. You're on the side of the angels."

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."

"No, you're not. I see. You're not ordinary, no. You're me. You're me! Thank you, Sherlock Holmes. Bless you. As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out. Well, good luck with that!"

Now Sherlock stood on the edge of the roof of the hospital. He called John as he got out of the cab.

"Hello?"

"John."

"Sherlock, are you ok?"

"Turn around and walk back the way you came."

"No, I'm coming in."

"Just do as I ask. Please."

Something in Sherlock's voice made him stop. "Where?"

"Stop there."

"Sherlock?"

"Ok, look up. I'm on the rooftop."

_Fucking hell..._ "Oh, God." John's blood turned icy. His nightmare was coming true. _What are you doing, Sherlock?_

"I can't come down, so we'll just have to do it like this."

"What's going on?"

"An apology. It's all true."

"What?"

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."

John couldn't believe it. He wouldn't. Refused to. He stared up at Sherlock, and he forced his lungs to take in air. "Why are you saying this?"

Tears welled up in Sherlock's eyes. "I'm a fake."

"Sherlock..."

"The newspapers were right all along." His voice quivered, and he took a shaky breath. "I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. In fact tell anyone who will listen to you, that I created Moriarty. For my own purposes." It was physically painful to say this to John. Not only because he was telling John he was a fraud, but because he was lying. Lying to the one and only person that he cared for, that he loved.

"Ok, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met, the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

Sherlock smiled. "Nobody could be that clever."

"You could."

Sherlock laughed. **Oh, John, you stubborn bastard. Can't you understand that I'm doing this for you?** "I researched you. When we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. It's just a magic trick."

John shook his head. No, this is not happening. "No. Alright, stop it now." He started to move, but Sherlock stopped him.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."

"Yeah, alright."

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

"This phone call, it's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."

"Leave a note when?" John's voice shook.

"Good-bye, John. My love, my life. Don't forget me."

Sherlock hated himself. He wished he could be with John, holding him in his arms as he said good-bye.

"No. Don't."

Sherlock forced a smile through his tears. "Don't worry, John. Tomorrow may rain, but I'll follow the sun."

"SHERLOCK!" Sherlock hung up the phone and tossed it behind him. John stared up at him, and struggled to find words.

John wanted to scream, to tell him to stop, but the words were stuck in his throat. Sherlock stood on top of a building, looking down at John. John stood in the street, looking up at Sherlock. _Why? Why would he do this?_ Just then, Sherlock jumped off the building. John's heart snapped in half. He tried to run to him, but he was knocked over by someone on their bike. When he finally got up, he was too scared for Sherlock to even say anything to the biker. John ran to his boyfriend. He checked Sherlock's pulse. Nothing. He gazed upon the broken face of his lover, the normally twinkling blue-grey eyes were vacant. John tried to stand but couldn't. He couldn't breathe, coudn't think, couldn't do anything._ I thought he was happy. I thought he loved me... Moriarty._ John didn't know how, but he knew that Moriarty made Sherlock do this.

John stood at his lover's grave. He felt so empty. Sherlock had made him feel alive, and he missed him with all his heart.

"I was so alone, and I owe you so much." He started to walk away, but turned around again. "Oh, please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me." He sighed. "Don't be dead. Would you do that, just for me? Stop it. Stop this." He wiped the tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand. He refused to let himself cry. Not here, in front of Sherlock. The doctor stood up straight, took one last look at the tombstone, and walked away.

Sherlock watched John as he left the cemetery, and smiled to himself. "Don't worry, John. I won't let you down."


	6. Chapter 6

"It's almost been a year now." John stood at Sherlock's grave. Almost one year since he jumped. He had thought it would get less painful, but he was wrong. "I need you, Sherlock. I'm dying without you. It's almost as if I can feel myself getting colder inside. The days are blurring together. There's no meaning to my life." He sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow, 'lock." He had gotten into the habit of visiting the grave every day, and that was his closing sentence. He walked away, pain heavy in his heart. Sherlock watched, tears falling from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, John." He couldn't stop himself from crying, and sobs racked his body. He felt disgusting. This was one of the rare occasions when he had time to see John at his grave, but then he had to go. "I didn't mean for it to go this far."

John refused to live in the old flat. It hurt too much. The only thing he kept that belonged to Sherlock was his favorite pajamas. They were too big on him, but when he was lonely, the doctor would wear them when he went to sleep. They still smelled like Sherlock. Tea, coffee, and nicotine. The rest of his belongings John left in the flat, untouched, exactly the way Sherlock had left them. He imagined Sherlock singing Let It Be to him, and it brought tears to his eyes. He wouldn't forget, but remembering was hell.

Sherlock was as busy as ever, dismantling Moriarty's network. It was far more vast than he had originally imagined, and he worked feverishly to get it done. He hated being away from John, but it was worse thinking about how John was feeling. He heard the doctor's soft voice in his head, calling him his favorite nickname. 'lock. He imagined him singing Golden Slumbers before he slept, if he got the chance to sleep. He spent most hours of the day and night working on destroying Jim's criminal web. Sherlock lived on the thought that when he was done, he could go back home to John. Forever.

John walked down the street, the warm summer breeze on his face. It didn't make him feel any warmer, though. He felt cold all the time. He looked up at the hospital, and thought of Sherlock. The doctor sighed, and stepped inside. Another day wasted.

Sherlock dreamed that he was with John. They were in a bright green meadow in the middle of spring, laying together in the grass. Sherlock watched John close his eyes, the morning sun shining on his face. A butterfly landed on his nose, and John looked at it cross-eyed. Both men laughed, and Sherlock leaned down and kissed him as the butterfly flew away. When he released the doctor's mouth and opened his eyes, he was staring down at Moriarty.

"NO!" Sherlock stood up, and found himself standing on the roof of St. Bart's. He turned around just in time to see Moriarty pull out his gun and shoot himself. When Sherlock looked over the ledge, John was standing in the street, and tears ran down his face. The detective didn't know what to do.

"John!"

"Sherlock!" Just after his boyfriend called his name, Sherlock found himself standing in the street. It was like watching a scene from a movie. His body lied on the ground, and John was checking his pulse. Several people had their arms under John's, steadying him. Sherlock went to hug him, but his hand passed right through. He shouted at the top of his lungs, but nobody could hear.

"JOHN!" Sherlock sat up in his bed. He was breathing heavily, and he was covered in sweat, although his body was cold. He wrapped the sheets around himself, and was reminded once more about why he must finish his mission.

John walked to his new apartment. He was beginning to understand that even though he was heartbroken and mentally crushed, life went on. He watched the people on the street walk by, talking and laughing happily. Everything was different without Sherlock. His left hand had started shaking again. Not only did he miss the only person he loved, but he missed what they did together. Solving crimes, the thrill of the chase, the blood coursing through his veins. Just the two of them against the world. But John was alone now, and he wasn't against the world, the world was against him. Every fiber of his being screamed for Sherlock. His lips cried, his arms begged, his heart sobbed. He had allowed himself to open up. He had let someone inside his heart. And now he was gone. John knew he would never love again. The air grew colder as the night wore on, and the doctor pulled his jacket tighter around his body. When John got home, he threw himself on his bed, and cried until his eyes were dry. He pulled out his gun, held it to his temple, and closed his eyes. But he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. Something stopped him, like it did every night, and he put it back on the nightstand. The doctor walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He didn't even bother to pour it into a glass, and drank it straight from the bottle. He drank until his throat burned and his stomach churned, and then he passed out cold in the floor. Even though he hated it, drinking was the only thing that could numb the pain.

AN: I know, I know, but please don't hate me! I mean, Hurt/Comfort is one of this story's genres. This is just the hurt part, and I promise the comfort will come soon. Happy/angry reunions and joyful noise will come in plenty, I promise. As always, please review!


	7. Chapter 7

John left work that evening with the intention of going home. But despite his mind's wishes, his body and heart took him to 221B Baker Street. It had been two years since Sherlock had jumped, and he still hadn't put that bullet to his head. He was becoming something of an alcoholic, drinking nearly every night until he blacked out. He was becoming like his sister, and he hated it. No, I'm not my sister. She drinks because she wants to. John drank to escape from the pain that was constantly wrapping it's cold, deadly fingers around his body. The cool autumn wind whipped around him as he walked up to the door.

Sherlock had finally done it. He had destroyed Moriarty's network. Two years, two damn years, but it was finally over. He was going home. He stepped into the doorway of 221B Baker Street, being silent so he wouldn't alert Mrs. Hudson. He walked into his flat, finding everything as he had left it, except one thing. John. Where is he? Sherlock searched every room before calling his brother, who informed him that John had moved elsewhere. Sherlock couldn't believe it. But the detective put his coat and scarf back on and got ready to leave, when he saw his violin. He needed some peace of mind before he left to see John again after two years of being utterly alone. So, he picked it up and began to play.

John came into the doorway and nearly ran back out again. He heard violin music coming from the flat, his imagination. The same thing had happened when he originally came back two years ago, to get Sherlock's pajamas. John couldn't turn around, though. He took a deep breath and walked up the stairs. He closed his eyes, stopped for a minute, and then entered the living room. His heart almost stopped.

Sherlock had heard the door open downstairs, but ignored it thinking it to be Mrs. Hudson. He continued playing, until he heard soft footsteps at the doorway to the livingroom. He slowly turned around, and dropped the violin to the ground.

John stood there, speechless, tears in his eyes. Sherlock slowly staggered over to his love, and kissed him on the mouth. He pulled John close to his body, and tangled his fingers in his hair. John held Sherlock's face in his hands, and closed his eyes. I must be drunk. He didn't care if he was. But if it was the only way to see Sherlock, he would be doing it again. Their bodies connected, like two pieces of a puzzle, like two soul mates who had never known love. Sherlock's body was perfectly fitted to the doctor's. John's hands were precisely placed on the consulting detective's face. Sherlock released John's mouth and collapsed in his arms. They both fell to the floor, and Sherlock looked up into his lover's face.

"John, I'm so sorry." The doctor's mouth was open, but no sound came out. Tears filled his beautiful navy blue eyes. Sherlock burried his face in John's chest, and cried. Every teardrop felt like a waterfall. John closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. He looked so feeble, John didn't even question him. It was then that the doctor finally found out just how fragile Sherlock's heart was. He knew he wasn't drunk. Sherlock was alive. Sherlock had faked his death for him. He didn't know how, or why, but he knew that he did. He was finally home, with the man that he loved.

"John, can you, I know you can't, I wouldn't, but I need, will you forgive me?"

"Sshh, darling, sh." John kissed the top of Sherlock's head and smiled. "Of course, I forgive you."

"John, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine, 'lock. I forgive you." Sherlock raised his head up to look at John, who smiled "I finally found someone to die for."

Sherlock smiled back. "And I finally found someone who makes me feel alive." He rested his head in John's lap, and the doctor absently raked his fingers through the detective's disheveled hair. Then, John began to sing.

"Once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was a way to get back home. Sleep pretty darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby. Golden slumbers fill your eyes, smiles await you when you rise. Sleep pretty darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby. Once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was a way to get back home. Sleep pretty darling, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby."

AN: I know, you all want John to punch Sherlock in the face. Don't worry, he will. Next chapter! Thank you all for being such good fans. And as I always have asked and always will, please review!


	8. Chapter 8

AN: So, thank you to all who reviewed. And I am going to start replying to them here, just so you know.

AsamiAkihito: I'm glad you think it was magical, and that you loved it. And yes, I also think it was rushed, but I mean that's kind of, just a little but, the point. I mean, they just lose themselves so quickly when they're with each other, when you think on it for a moment. But yes, it was still rushed. And John is reluctant to tell Sherlock about his dream because he doesn't want to worry him, and also because John is the kind of person who thinks sometimes that if you ignore things and shake them off, then they will go away. And as you can see, that was foreshadowing.

hamishismymiddlename: Yeah, we do have some Reichenbach feels going. But it's all better now! For the time being...

Sendai: Where did you go? I haven't seen you around here for a while, not since chapter three of this story and your review to True or False?

And thank you to my guests who reviewed, but I still wish I could answer you directly on your thoughts. Maybe you all could make accounts for me. And thank you to all who favorite and follow, too. And for you all to know I edited some of my other chapters from some mistakes I made, if you want to check them out. Anyway, enjoy!

Sherlock's head was in John's lap, and his fingers carded through the detective's disheveled ebony curls as he sang. As the fact that Sherlock is actually alive sank in, John found that he's angry. _Really_ angry. _Sherlock has been alive this whole time but he never told me? He let me grieve, he let me think that he was dead for two years, two fucking years!_ John stopped singing and clenched his jaw. Sherlock looked up at him, puzzled.

"John, what's wrong?" John suddenly stood up, and Sherlock stood up with him. John looked unstable, so he held his arms out to steady him.

"You're alive."

"Yes, I'm alive. Haven't we already established this?"

"You let me think you were dead for two years."

"Yes."

"Why?" Tears were welled up in John's eyes, and his voice was hoarse.

"Oh. See, uh, that's a bit difficult to explain..."

"I've got all night."

"See, it was a secret. I had to make sure that everyone thought I was dead, so that I could destroy Moriarty's network."

"Did anyone know?" Sherlock sighed.

"Yes. Molly Hooper, Mycroft, my parents, and some of my homeless network, who helped me set up the whole thing."

"Oh, so just your family, Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps?"

"John, I'm sorry. But I couldn't tell you, or you could have told anyone."

"Oh, so this is my fault?!"

"John, there's a terrorist cell in London, and I need your help."

John laughed. "My help?"

"Oh, you've missed this. Solving crimes, the thrill of the chase, the blood coursing through your viens. Just the two of us against the world." John stared at him coldly. Of course, Sherlock was right, but he wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"And John, please, I just have one question." John raised his eyebrows, and Sherlock motioned to his upper lip. "Are you seriously going to keep that?" John reeled back his arm and threw his fist in Sherlock's face. Sherlock held his bleeding nose, and looked at John puzzledly.

"I said sorry, isn't that what you're supposed to do?" John's anger softened, and he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, who was really confused. **First he's happy, then he's angry, then he's happy again? I don't understand! God, John, why do you have to be so complicated?**

"I told you, John. You just weren't listening."

"Told me what?"

"That I'd follow the sun." John smiled, and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. Sherlock hugged him to his body. "Dance with me, John."

"Dance to what?"

"To this." Sherlock smiled, and started singing. John joined in and they danced around the dusty, unused flat.

"One day you'll look to see I've gone, for tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun. Some day you'll know I was the one, but tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun. And now the time has come, and so my love I must go. And though I lose a friend, in the end you will know. One day you'll find that I have gone, but tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun. Yeah, tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun. And now the time has come, and so my love I must go. And though I lose a friend, in the end you'll know. One day you'll find that I have gone, but tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun."

A week later, John had shaved his mustache and sold his new apartment and was once again living in Baker Street with Sherlock. Life went back to normal, it seemed. They solved crimes, John blogged about it, and every once in a while Sherlock would forget his pants. He actually would have thought he imagined the whole thing if Sherlock hadn't reasurred him it had really happened. It was a cozy December evening by the fire place when Sherlock did something John will never forget. He was sitting in his arm chair typing his blog when Sherlock came home. He had been gone all day, supposedly off solving some case, and he had insisted that John stay home. Sherlock came up the stairs and stood in front of John. He didn't say anything, and after a while it got a bit scary.

"Is there something wrong, 'lock?"

"Yes. I don't exactly know how to say this, John."

"How to say what?"

"This is hard."

"What's hard?"

"The hardest thing I've ever done."

"Sherlock, what is it?"

"Well, I don't know how else to say this, so I'm just going to get to the point."

"What point, Sherlock?"

"John" Sherlock smiled. "Hamish" He knelt down on one knee. "Watson," He reached into his pocket and produced a small black box, and John was sure his heart stopped. He held it out to John and opened it. Inside, there was a simple golden band. Upon closer inspection, John saw thin cursive lettering. On the inside, it said 'Before, after, and in between' and on the outside is said 'To keep for all eternity'. One of John's hands clutched his heart, and the other tentatively took the box out of Sherlock's hand. "Will you marry me?" Tears ran down John's face, and he nodded.

"Yes. Yes with all my heart." Sherlock smiled, and he took the ring with one hand, and with the other he took John's hand. He slipped the ring on his finger, and it fit perfectly. John smiled, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's back and burried his face in his neck. Tears slid down Sherlock's face, and he held John close. They would never be apart again.

Sherlock and John had a lovely spring wedding in May. It was a small gathering. Only John and Sherlock's families, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly were invited. Everyone came except Harry. John knew it had been pointless to ask, but he still tried. Sherlock's wedding ring was a lot like John's. It was a plain silver band with cursive lettering. On the inside 'No matter who or what we are' and on the outside 'Before and after the end of time' were written. There was something final about John putting the ring on Sherlock's finger that he loved. It was like a gift to always be treasured, a promise to never be forgotten. A whispered prayer that had been answered with such grace that it must be a sign, a sign that their future would only be bright. When they kissed, it was like sealing that bright future with a contract, a contract binded with everlasting love. For their honeymoon, they went to Paris, France. Sherlock said it was the most sensible honeymoon destination of all, and John couldn't help but agree. They spent a whole week there. Late one evening, they went out for a stroll in a local park. The air was cool, and the stars and moon were covered by clouds. The park was empty except for Sherlock and John, and the night dew had just started forming on the blades of grass. They sat down on a bench, and John gripped Sherlock's hand while he rested his head on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and smiled. Life was good. He was finally married to the man he loved, and he knew that nothing could ever tear them apart. Sherlock sighed, and a tear rolled down his face. He was so happy he was crying. **Now I'm emotional and complicated, too.** John started humming, and Sherlock started singing as he realized what song it was. Soon enough, they had a lovely duet going on, with the crickets and other night creatures as their audience.

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise. Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these sunken eyes and learn to see. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free. Blackbird fly, blackbird fly, into the light of the dark black night. Blackbird fly, blackbird fly, into the light of the dark black night. Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise. You were only waiting for this moment to arise. You were only waiting for this moment to arise."

AN: I would really love some feedback on this chapter, guys. I mean, really.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: So, this chapter is considerably longer than my others, but honestly, I just couldn't stop writing. I hope you all enjoy!

Sherlock and John came back from their honeymoon in high spirits. Life went back to normal. Sherlock was the happiest he's ever been in his life. He and John were having some of the best cases yet, and they were hard to solve, which added to the fun. But after a while there was something different about John. Sherlock couldn't quite put his finger on it, though. One night he was sitting in the living room playing his violin, and the doctor was making tea in the kitchen. He decided to ask John what was bothering him.  
"John?"  
"Yeah?"  
"What's wrong?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"You've been acting different lately. I don't know how to describe it, though. Is something wrong?" John sighed and put down his spoon. He walked into the living room and sat down in his arm chair, nervously tapping his fingers on the arm rests.  
"I'm sorry, 'lock. It's not bothering me, I just need to talk to you about it, but I don't know how." Now Sherlock was really confused. But he smiled, trying to reasure John.  
"It's alright. You can tell me anything." The doctor sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head.  
"Alright, I guess I should just get on with it. I want to have a baby." Sherlock blinked several times, opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. He was clearly surprised.  
"A baby?"  
"Mm hm."  
"You mean, adopt?"  
"Yup."  
"Well, I hadn't really thought about that before, John. How long have you wanted to have kids?"  
"Well, I mean I've always wanted to, but it was always at the back of my mind. And then I met you, and we were together, and the thought kind of came back. And then we got married, and it's been at the front of my mind for a while, I guess. I've really been thinking about it, and I know we could be great parents. I mean, even with you working, I could switch to a part time job at Bart's, and you aren't on a case everyday. I think it could work, I really do." He smiled broadly, and Sherlock just furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips.  
"You've put a lot of thought into this, John. Is this really what you want?"  
"Well, I mean, I wish more than anything that we could have our own kids, I really do. But we physically can't, but I don't want to let that get in my way of having kids at all. I really want to adopt, Sherlock. But, of course, this is as much your decision as it is mine. What do you think?"  
"I think it's a great idea, John." The doctor's face lit up like the fourth of July.  
"Really?"  
"Yes, of course! I mean, I was shocked at first. I hadn't put much thought to it. But I have in the time since you brought it up, and I think it could really work. If that's what you want, then that's what I want." John sighed, and Sherlock looked at him in confusion. "What?"  
"Sherlock, this isn't just about what I want. If you don't want it, then we aren't going to do this."  
"John, we are. Do you want to know why? Because that's the kind of person I am. I don't know if I want something until I have it. I didn't know I loved dogs until I had Redbeard. I didn't know I loved being a detective until I tried it out. I didn't know I loved you until I lived with you for two years. And I won't know if I love being a father until I am one. Do you understand, John? If it makes you happy, then I'm happy, too. Who knows? I may turn out to be the best father in the world, the way I am the best detective."  
"And the best husband." John smiled and walked over to Sherlock to sit in his lap. He kissed him on the cheek, and the detective blushed. "What did I do to deserve you, Sherlock?"  
"Everything." He wrapped his arms around John, and held him close. "Do you want to have a boy or a girl?"  
"A girl. Is that aright, 'lock?"  
"Perfect. A daughter would be absolutely perfect."  
Mrs. Hudson couldn't have been happier about the news. Lestrade, Molly, and even Mycroft were all also thrilled, not to mention Sherlock and John's parents. A few days later, after finding out they were allowed to adopt and buying what they needed and setting up John's old room for the baby, since John and Sherlock shared a room, they went to the orhanage. They were led to a room full of little babies. John's heart warmed at the sight, and he gripped Sherlock's hand tightly. The children ranged in age from a few weeks to five years, and eventually Sherlock spotted a little girl sitting in the back corner of the room. She was all alone, and she was quietly crying. The detective couldn't take it. He whisked John away to her, and then he picked her up and held her in her arms. She smiled at Sherlock, looking up at him with brigh sea green eyes. Then she spotted John, and she reached with her little fingers grasping for him, and she giggled happily. Sherlock handed her to the doctor, who smiled widely. The girl smiled back, and she placed her little hands on John's face, before rubbing their noses together. She was twelve months old, with a head full of dark red hair. Her skin was pale with freckles splashed across the bridge of her nose and scattered over the rest of her body. John looked over at Sherlock, and he had tears in his eyes.  
"Is this the one?" John nodded. They went back to the front of the orphanage to sign the papers. "What are we going to name her, John?" The doctor looked down at the happy, giggling girl and smiled.  
"Adeline."  
"Adeline?" Sherlock thought on it for a moment, then he grinned. Only John would be able to think of a name as perfect as that.  
"Yes. Adeline... you choose her middle name, 'lock."  
"Me?" John nodded, and Sherlock gulped. He had actually thought about it for quite some time, he just didn't want John to know it. "Um, how about Mayella?" John smiled, and his face radiated like the sun. Sherlock knew he had chosen the perfect name.  
"Adeline Mayella Holmes. It's perfect, absolutely perfect, 'lock." He leaned up on his toes and kissed the detective on the cheek. The woman at the desk typed up the name and printed out the sheet before asking them to sign. She smiled warmly at them.  
"You two are gonna be great parents, I can tell." John blushed and then thanked her, and Sherlock and him left with their knew daughter. They went shopping and bought the little girl enough clothes for five kids. Then they brought her to the flat, which had been cleaned and child proofed of Sherlock's things, courtesy of Mrs. Hudson. John set her down and held her hands, walking her over to her room. She stepped in the doorway and squealed in delight. On the back wall was the window, which was now draped in blue and green flowery curtains. Under the window was an oak desk, for when she got older. To the left of the desk was a bookshelf, full of childrens books. On the right wall was a white crib with creamy colored sheets. On the left wall was the closet, where Sherlock had started busying himself with putting away the clothes. Adeline toddled around on her little feet, and fell over. John ran to her, but she wasn't hurt or crying. She was actually laughing. He picked her up and snuggled their faces together. When he finished, Sherlock came over and wrapped his arms around both of them. John smiled up at him. He had never been happier in his life. About one week later, they invited their parents, Lestrade, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson, even though she would've come anyway and had already met her, to meet Adeline. Of course, Mrs. Hudson came in the flat early and made cookies and drinks for everyone. When she came in the living room, she had a box with her.  
"What's that?" John had asked.  
"Oh, it's nothing. I'll show you later." The first people to arrive were John's parents. His mother came in and hugged him tightly, and then did the same with Sherlock. His father just patted him on the shoulder. John handed the baby over to his mother, and tears came to her eyes. Adeline cooed and closed her eyes, curling up soundly.  
"She's adorable, John. We're so proud of you." John beamed, and then the doorbell rang. In came Sherlock's parents. They both looked like little kids in a candy shop when they're eyes landed on Adeline. The baby laughed, and reached out for them. John's mother handed her to Sherlock's, and she tickled the baby under the chin, making her squeal.  
"Oh, William, she's beautiful. What did you say her name was?"  
"Adeline Mayella Holmes." Sherlock and John answered simultaniously. The doctor coughed. "I chose the first name, and Sherlock chose the middle name."  
"That's a lovely name, William." Sherlock's father smiled.  
"It really is." John's father put in, somewhat shyly. He wasn't really the talkitive type, so it meant a lot for him to say even that little comment. Everyone turned their heads as the doorbell rang again. John answered it, and it was Molly. She waved with a small smile, and followed him up the stairs. John tenderly took Adeline out of Sherlock's mother's hands, and placed her in Molly's arms. The baby giggled, gently tugging on Molly's ponytail. She smiled.  
"She's lovely, you two. Adeline, was it?"  
"Adeline Mayella." John let the detective answer. "John chose her first name, and I came up with her middle name." Molly smiled.  
"It's beautiful. You two must be very happy." At that, Mrs. Hudson shoved everyone into the living room. They were all talking and having a good time, and taking turns holding Adeline to see who could make her the happiest. At the moment, beside John, it was Sherlock's mother. About half an hour later, Lestrade came. He entered the livingroom, and looked down shamefully.  
"Sorry I'm late. There was a case-"  
"It was the barber." Sherlock cut in. Lestrade just sighed.  
"Yeah, alright, thanks." John stood up with Adeline and walked over to him, holding her out.  
"Adeline, this is our friend, Greg." The baby turned her head, and her smile faded. She stared wide-eyed for a moment before her face lit up like the sun and she squealed happily, reaching for the detective inspector. He held her in his arms and rocked her nervously. He didn't know what to do. He laughed, and she laughed, too. She smiled like never before, clapping her hands and talking baby nonsense inbetween fits of giggles. Everyone in the room walked over to them.  
"Wow, she really likes you. We haven't been able to make her laugh like that before." John laughed.  
"Yeah, how did you do that, Lestrade?" Sherlock asked.  
"I don't know, I didn't do anything. Here, maybe you could take her back." Lestrade was nervous with kids, and he handed her back to John. She looked around in surprise, before she covered her face in her hands and burst into tears.  
"Here, take her back!" John forced the detective inspector to take her back, and she went back to being just as happy as could be. John and Sherlock stared in disbelief. "She hasn't cried once since we got her. She must see something in you, Lestrade."  
"Yeah?" He smiled down at the giggling baby, and she blushed.  
"How do you feel about quitting your job and becoming a babysitter?" Sherlock joked, and everyone laughed before filing back into the main room. Lestrade sat in the floor next to Adeline, while she played with her toys. Eventually he got up and she didn't start crying. Everyone was talking when John suddenly remembered,  
"Mrs. Hudson, what was in that box?"  
"Oh, that? Well, I just had the materials lying around, and I thought it would be perfect for Adeline." She grabbed the box off the table and pulled what was inside out. "I just had some spare time, and I've been working on it for the week. Do you think she'll like it?" It was a beautiful sea green blanket, the color of Adeline's eyes. It was covered in a fairy tail of castles and dragons and maidens and knights, all embroidered in silver thread. It wasn't as thick as a quilt, but it was big enough to cover a queen size bed. Adeline stared at it in wonder, before reaching for it with a smile on her face. Mrs. Hudson wrapped it around her, and she snuggled into it warmly, laughing.  
"Mrs. Hudson, you made this?" Sherlock asked, shocked.  
"Yes. It took a while, but it was worth it. Look at that smile."  
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. That was really very nice." John smiled.  
"Oh, it was nothing, really. I was glad to do it. She's so happy. Oh, has she spoken her first words yet?"  
"Unless laughing counts, no. Me and Sherlock are trying to see which one of our names she'll say first."  
"Oh, it'll be you, John. She loves you." Sherlock smirked.  
"Well, I've got competition now. Seems she loves Lestrade, too." Everyone laughed, and Lestrade blushed. Then everyone in the room turned their heads toward the baby, who clapped her hands and giggled. She crawled over and wrapped her arms around Mrs. Hudsons legs, before doing the same to everyone in the room. Everyone laughed and she blushed, hiding under her new blanket. Eventually she crawled back over to Lestrade. He lifted her up in his arms, and she kissed him on the cheek. There was a chorus of 'Awwwww!' from everyone else in the room, and Sherlock snapped a picture on his phone. Adeline wrapped her arms around the detective inspector's neck in a little hug, and he laughed. After a while, she started rubbing her eyes and yawning, and she soon fell asleep. After that she was placed in her crib, and everyone quietly left. Mrs. Hudson cleaned up and left, too, and the flat was silent except for Adeline's tiny baby snores and Sherlock and John's hushed voices.  
"Look at her, 'lock. We finally have a baby." The doctor gripped his husband's hand, and the detective smiled.  
"I think I'm going to love being a father, John."  
"I know you will."  
In the next few months, the two men learned a lot about their daughter. She was almost always happy and laughing, and to both of them, it seemed, her laughter was like the tinkling of bells. She only ever cried for three reasons: When Lestrade would come over and then have to leave, when one of her fathers had to leave and she couldn't be with both of them, or when she's in a lot of pain. And even when she did cry, she stopped within ten minutes. She wasn't one for technology. Television was boring, and tablets, smart phones, and video games were dumb in her mind. But she did love music. Turns out she's a Beatles fan, just like John. Her favorite song is Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, and she hums it all the time. She loves having Sherlock and John read to her. She carries her blanket with her whenever she's up and walking around. Her favorite toy is her stuffed animal sock octopus. It's like a sock monkey, but instead of a monkey, it's an octopus. John calls it a socktopus. She is strong-willed, intelligent, imaginitive, and full of empathy. She loves flowers, and whenever Lestrade comes over, he brings her a bouquet. She's fairly easy to please, and she doesn't ask for much. Sherlock and John made a vow not to spoil her, and it's a lot easier to keep her good than they thought it would be. They both love her more than anything, and they wouldn't be able to bear it if she grew up anything less than what they are. One day in early fall, when they were both sitting in the floor playing with Adeline, she did something that surprised them both. Sherlock picked her up and blew raspberries on her belly, making her giggle. He sat her back down and she pointed at him with a shout of,  
"'lock!" Both men looked down at her in surprise.  
"What did you say, Adeline?" She smiled and pointed at the detective.  
"'lock, 'lock! 'lock dada!" Sherlock laughed and picked her up.  
"That's right, baby girl! 'lock dada!"  
"Look at that, Sherlock! You beat me to it. Her first words are 'lock dada." The doctor laughed, and Sherlock set the girl back down. She toddled around the room, singing,  
"'lock dada, 'lock dada, 'lock dada!" John caught her in his arms when she came back around, tickling her belly.  
"Hey, say me! I'm John. Can you say that, baby?" She scrunched up her face in concentration, stuttering,  
"J-J-J..."  
"That's right, John." She smiled, and touched his nose.  
"Ja!" She said triumphantly.  
"John!" The doctor said, more of a question, though, than a statement.  
"Ja! Jaja! Jaja papa!" She giggled and clapped her hands, shouting,  
"Jaja and 'lock! Papa and dada!" Sherlock laughed.  
"Look at us, John. 'lock and Jaja. We're so proud of you, Adeline!" He wrapped his arms around the baby, and she blushed. John smiled.  
"You're such a good little girl. What we do without you?" She answered him with a laugh and a shout of,  
"I wuv papa and dada!" Sherlock and John both started crying.  
"Oh, we love you, too, baby girl!" John held her in his arms and Sherlock wrapped himself around them. Today was a good day. Adeline crawled away, humming Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da to herself. Both men laughed, before John scooped her up in his arms again as she started yawning.  
"It's time for a certain baby girl's nap, isn't it?" She yawned again in reply. The doctor tucked her into her crib, and she was asleep in minutes. He closed the bedroom door softly behind him, and met Sherlock back in the main room, picking up the toys. When all the toys were put away, both men plopped down in their seats for the afternoon. John was in his armchair reading the news, and Sherlock sat across from him watching the television. After a while, Sherlock sighed, and looked over at John. He smiled, stood up and walked over to him, and lifted John up. He sat down and placed the doctor in his lap.  
"Hey, 'lock." He said wearily, smiling.  
"Hello, Mr. Holmes." John closed his eyes, and Sherlock knew he had him. John's mind turned fuzzy and butterflies flew around carelessly in his stomach. He melted into a puddle when Sherlock called him that. Without warning, the detective crushed his mouth against John's. The soldier took fists of black curls and pulled Sherlock close to him, and Sherlock grinned. He moved his hands under John's shirt, and trailed them up his sides. His hands were cool, but the heat of want and need in John's body just rose until he couldn't bear it. Sherlock tore him out of his shirt and John sighed, wrapping his arms around his back and kissing at his neck. Sherlock took him out of his pants and eyed the doctor's throbbing erection, and John moaned. The detective was just about to close his mouth over his cock when the television started making loud static noise. They both turned their heads and squinted at the screen. Suddenly the image changed, and their hearts stopped. A picture of Jim Moriarty played with type across the screen and a voice repeatedly saying 'Did you miss me?' John's jaw nearly dropped to the floor, and Sherlock stared at the screen without understanding. Moriarty was dead. He shot himself. Sherlock was there! He sat back and closed his eyes, trying to sort out the hundreds of thoughts scrambling around his cranium. **How did he do this? Why did he do this? John and Adeline are in danger. If he's alive, why did he let me destroy his criminal network? Did he ever actually have a real criminal network? John and Adeline are in danger. Was it really him on the rooftop? John and Adeline are in danger. Is he actually alive? John and Adeline are in danger. What am I going to do? John and Adeline are in danger. John and Adeline are in danger. John and Adeline are in danger!**  
John opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a whimper. Sherlock looked over at his husband, his face a mask of calm. He had finally narrowed his thoughts down to just two, one of them being 'John and Adeline are in danger' He stared into his lover's navy blue eyes and grinned before voicing his second thought aloud. With it came the promise of adventure and danger, and a hint of lust.  
"We have a case to solve."

AN: I know, you all might hate me for that ending, but do you still love me for the baby? Please review, everyone! I worked really hard on this chapter.


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